


A Living Scar

by PyroKlepto



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Demon possession, Demons, I'm tempted to bring Constantine into this but I probably won't haha, Rated T because well.... demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKlepto/pseuds/PyroKlepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toying with the occult is a dangerous thing. Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter will soon come to realise that every step one takes into the spirit world comes with a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original 'possessed!Lassie' headcanon came from grigiocuore over on Tumblr. I'm just writing a story for it. This is rated T for what will probably be frightening scenes and violence. I apologise for the ending of this chapter; endings aren't my strong suit and usually end up mediocre. This first chapter is partially a one-shot I wrote for Psychtober, though I edited it and expounded on it.
> 
> Comment, let me know what you think, or just talk about your own ideas! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon.

“Shawn. Shawn, this is a _bad idea_.”

“Gus, don’t be Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Marzipan,” Shawn replied. “What could be the worst thing to happen, anyway?”

Gus glowered at his best friend. “You could summon a real demon. You aren’t supposed to mess around with the occult, Shawn, it ends badly. Have you ever paid attention to horror movies?”

Shawn raised both eyebrows and narrowed his eyes in a superior expression. “It’s a couple of pencils, and a paper with some words written on it. Relax.”

Gus tried to snatch the paper and pencils away from Shawn. “Pretending to be a psychic is one thing, but messing with the supernatural for real is another.”

Leaping backwards to keep the writing supplies out of Gus’s reach, Shawn scanned the police department for a suitable place to try his experiment. This empty conference room simply wouldn’t do. He spotted Lassie and Jules sitting at a desk in one of the other conference rooms and made his decision, all but prancing over.

He sat down in a chair and slapped his paper down on the desk.

“Shawn, what are you doing?” Juliet asked, her voice a cross between annoyance and amusement.

Gus wandered into the room but hung back near the door. Lassiter just rolled his eyes and scowled, looking completely jaded.

Shawn didn’t respond, instead placing the pencils in the shape of a cross on the slip of paper, upon which was drawn a grid with the words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the boxes.

“Spencer, what the hell?” Lassiter said.

“Shhh. I am about to summon someone from the spirit world,” Shawn whispered, placing a hand to his temple. Staring at the paper, he intoned, “Charlie, Charlie, are you here?”

“What the--” Lassiter began again. He shut up before he could finish, eyes riveted on the paper. The pencils were shifting. Eventually, the tips pointed to ‘yes’. Just as that happened, the lights throughout the entire police station flickered.

Gus made a whimpering sound from the door. Juliet’s breath caught in her throat, and Shawn stared wide-eyed at the paper. He had not expected anything to actually happen.

A long, heavy silence fell. Lassiter’s hand twitched, and he moved it towards his jacket as though reaching for his gun.

“Shawn, what just happened…?” Juliet whispered, slowly standing up and backing away from the desk and the slip of paper on it. Gus tried to say something, but his voice cracked before he could get a single word out.

Shawn tilted his head, peering at the paper. “I’m sensing something…” And he didn’t say it solely for the dramatic effect. Something definitely felt… different. Off. In as steady a voice as he could muster, he called out, “Can you speak to us, spirit?”

That was actually a very dumb thing to say; if he wanted to keep up the psychic act, he should just pretend to be conversing with a spirit. But he felt that the extra question had been necessary. It wasn’t like he would get an audible response - the pencils had been moved by simple gravity, and the lights flickering had been a coincidence.

At first, there was nothing. Not a single sound besides Gus’s slightly panicked breathing and the faint murmur of police officers conversing in worried tones elsewhere in the department.

And then the lights flickered abruptly again before going out completely, plunging the room into darkness. The unexpected loss of light was accompanied by an electrical buzzing noise that faded shortly after. A metallic scent pervaded the air.

Gus let out a yelp, and Juliet gasped. Shawn heard Lassiter utter a muffled curse word that he cut off short. Just then, one light switched on - the lamp on the desk. The rest of the station remained in darkness. Juliet finally screamed, but for different reasons than Gus. “Carlton! Carlton, what’s--”

Shawn spun around, and when he saw what Juliet saw, stared wide-eyed.

The head detective was bent over the desk, practically lying on top of it. His white-knuckled hands clutched blindly at anything they touched, from papers to the cup full of pencils. He convulsed once and crumpled to the floor, hands still grasping for a hold on something.

Gus let out a high-pitched scream and ran. Shawn wanted to follow but found himself frozen in place.

Lassiter thrashed around on the floor, acting as though he were clambering for a handhold on a cliff. He struggled to his knees, reaching up with one tense and trembling hand to grip the side of the desk. He tried to speak but only managed a choked sort of sound. His whole body shuddered.

Shawn caught a glimpse of the other man’s eyes. Blue flashed to red to black to blue, a battle of control somewhere inside. And Shawn saw something in the blue-again eyes that he never thought he would see there - pure, unbridled terror.

Lassiter lurched to his feet only to fall again. He arched backwards with shocking flexibility, like a puppet someone attempted to bend in two, before pitching forward again. He knelt there, shaking uncontrollably.

“C-Carlton…?” Juliet whispered.

At first, Lassiter didn’t respond. He only knelt there, arms loose at his sides and staring straight ahead, motionless except for the shivering. Then even that stopped.

“Lassie?” Shawn asked softly, his brow furrowed.

Then Lassiter stood and slowly turned around. Juliet bit back another cry and even Shawn had difficulty not screaming.

The sky blue eyes now shimmered black.

Lassiter’s lips curled into a grin - and it wasn’t a friendly one. Then, in a voice that was his and yet not his, he said, “Yes, I can talk. Now.”

Shawn felt Juliet clutching his hand in a vice-like grip, but she didn’t run. And Shawn knew he couldn’t either - whatever had happened, it had been his fault. He needed to… he wasn’t sure what he could do. But he needed to try and fix this somehow. “Lassie…?”

“Yes?” Lassiter - if it was even him anymore - gave them a toothy grin, eyes burning like twin coals. 

“Lassie, I know you - the real you - is in there somewhere,” Shawn said slowly, forcing the tremor to leave his voice. “You might want to come out now.”

“I’m right here.” Lassiter outstretched his arms with a smirk. 

“Carlton…” Juliet whispered, still gripping Shawn’s hand. She sounded as though she wasn’t sure who - or what - her partner was anymore; her voice held the fear and uncertainty that came along with the confusion.

Lassiter seemed to ignore her, walking behind the desk. He stretched, arching his back in a catlike manner. His skin nearly glowed in the solitary light of the lamp, seeming paler than usual. His veins stood out in stark contrast, no longer a faded blue-green - they were a ruddy red, like the blood that flowed through them. Lassiter tilted his head back and forth, from one side to the other, rolling his shoulders. Like a creature experimenting with and testing out its new skin - its new body.

Then he turned his head sharply to look at Shawn and Juliet again, and Shawn felt a shiver go down his spine. Lassiter’s eyes had always been piercing - the sort of eyes you could drown in, the sort of eyes that you could fall into if you got too close and never touch the ground again - but it had been amplified now, in a more terrifying way. Black eyes weren’t like water and sky so much as they were like tar and storms. 

A thick silence fell upon the room. No one moved. Shawn felt trapped in the black depths of Lassiter’s eyes. 

And then Lassiter grinned again, baring his teeth. “See you soon.” 

The entire police department lit up as the lights flickered and then turned back on. Just as that happened, Lassiter collapsed to the floor, his head slamming into the edge of the desk as he crumpled.

Juliet’s breathing quickened and she drew in a raggedy breath, clearly trying not to sob. Shawn only stood and stared, still unable to move. Was Lassiter… was he… 

A quiet groan broke the silence. Two hands with pale blue-green veins gripped the edge of the desk, and suddenly Lassiter was hauling himself to his feet. His eyes, though hazy, were once again blue.

“Carlton--” Juliet could only say his name before her voice cracked, though it was full of relief.

He looked at her silently, and then looked away, down at the floor. 

“Lassiter?” Shawn started tentatively.

“Whatever it is, it’s gone,” Lassiter interrupted, his voice dull. “I’m fine.” Before Shawn or Juliet could protest or express disbelief, Lassiter had exited the room and disappeared around the corner. 

Shawn turned around and drew Juliet into a hug, which she returned without hesitation. He stared out the door and wondered whether whatever force had taken control of Lassiter had really gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to updating. This is rather short, and I'm sorry about that. The chapters will probably be getting progressively longer, or they might not. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Ah, and trigger warning: Lassiter is very sick in this chapter, and there's a bit of vomiting and mention of unpleasant sensations he's suffering. Proceed with caution.

A few beat cops were milling around, and tried to ask Lassiter questions as he walked past - asking him what had happened, why Burton Guster had run out of the department screaming, what should be done. He pushed past them all, refusing to say a single word. He needed out. He needed to get out, away from everyone. 

As soon as he walked through the doors of the Santa Barbara Police Department, he made his way toward his car. Just as he had unlocked it, something inside of him twisted and he stumbled as far away as he could before falling to his knees and vomiting. 

He remained there, shivering. Something inside of him was shifting… it almost felt like something was alive within his very being, curling around and making itself at home. The sensation reminded him of the few times he had seen a carcass on the side of the road, or worse - a body on a case - overrun with maggots, and he found himself vomiting again until nothing was left in his stomach. 

After a few minutes, when Lassiter felt certain he wouldn’t end up retching anymore - though the unsettling sensation of harbouring a living creature remained - he clenched his jaw and climbed inside his car. The drive home was an uncomfortable one, gritted teeth, tensed muscles, and a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. But he managed to reach his destination without crashing, and made his way inside.

Lassiter walked into the bathroom and turned on the light, staring at himself in the mirror; hair unkempt from his fingers raking through them, dark shadows beneath his eyes, a bleeding cut on his forehead… and then something flickered in the corner of his vision, as though a silhouette had skittered across the room behind him. Heart stuttering, Lassiter spun around, reached for his gun, and fired. 

And he saw nothing but a bullet hole in the wall of a room where only he stood. No one else was present.

Lassiter watched the bullet hole for a long moment, then turned around, slipping his gun back into its holster and looking in the mirror again. He stood very still, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing happened.

Only slightly reassured, Lassiter cast one last glance around the room before switching the sink on. He lowered his head, gathering cold water in his hands and splashing his face. 

When he lifted his head again, the water streaming off his hands and face was crimson.

Lassiter choked back a shout and stumbled backwards, wiping his hands frantically on his trousers. He looked back at the mirror, but there was nothing - the only blood on his face was the cut from earlier. But his hands… 

He checked his hands and found they were no longer red. The stains on his trouser legs were grey, not a dark ruddy colour. The water in the sink flowed clear once again, as though nothing had happened. 

Lassiter, all too aware of how his hands trembled, drew in a slow breath before clenching his fists. He stared at the running water, expecting it to go red again, but nothing changed. Jaw working, Lassiter moved back to the sink and shut it off. 

Normally, at this point, he would take his suit and shoulder holster off. Tonight, he decided he would rather just take the jacket off and keep his gun at his side. 

In the kitchen, Lassiter threw a TV dinner in the microwave and grabbed a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. Maybe a bit of liquor would take away the feeling of being explored from the inside. 

It was later - sitting on the sofa with the entire bottle of liquor and poking listlessly at his food - that Lassiter heard the voice.

_This is a familiar sight, isn’t it? You, drowning your problems with liquor? You can’t solve them yourself, you never could._

Lassiter took another swig of scotch and let his head fall back and over the top of the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Another night listening to the whispers in his head. 

Except… they sounded different this time. This didn’t sound like his own voice, speaking his own thoughts. This was an unfamiliar voice, murmuring things he hadn’t formed into sentences himself. 

Or maybe the liquor was just making it feel like that. Lassiter drew a hand across his face. He should eat something… that might help the churning inside of him quiet. Or it might make him sick again. He wrinkled his nose and leaned forward again, moving his TV dinner from his lap to the coffee table.

_You’re almost worse than your father, you know._

“Shut up,” Lassiter growled, downing another gulp of his liquor and hoping his thoughts would quiet down, at least to a slow buzz. They did, but then he saw something out of the corner of his vision - something reflected in the screen of the television. It wasn’t very clear, but the fuzzy shape did not belong to any of his furniture. 

Nearly dropping his bottle of scotch, Lassiter half-fell, half-jumped off the sofa and looked around. At first it seemed like he saw something, but it was again just outside of his vision. “Who’s there?”

_Who I am is unimportant. It's who I will become with your help that is of significance now._

The response didn’t come from any corner of the room - it came from inside of him. Lassiter flinched, shaking his head sharply. “What the hell…” 

He set the bottle of liquor down and raked both hands through his hair, drawing in an unsteady breath. God, what was going on… was the world spinning or was it just him? 

It vaguely registered that he was beginning to feel feverish, and he groaned, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Maybe he just needed to down some ice water and painkillers, and go to bed. Maybe in the morning, he would feel a little less like crap.

Lassiter walked over to the coffee table and retrieved the bottle of scotch. He took a long swig of it on his way back to the kitchen, where he placed it back in the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water, which he put ice cubes in before taking a drink. 

As he reached for the painkillers in one of the other cupboards, he paused. The scent of smoke hung acrid in the air, and he turned in a circle, looking for the source. The ice cubes clinked in his glass, bringing to his attention the fact that his hands were trembling slightly. 

There was no fire, and no smoke. Only the smell. 

Gritting his teeth, Lassiter finished the glass of water and took the painkillers before trudging back down the hallway to his bedroom, shutting the lights off as he went. He left the remains of his dinner on the coffee table; he could clean up tomorrow.

He paused outside of his closet, briefly debating with himself whether he should change into pyjamas or not.

No… not after how strange the night had been. 

So he all but collapsed onto his bed, still dressed in his trousers and pale blue shirt - which he had unbuttoned halfway to help cool him down. He felt like he was burning alive from the inside out… 

He kept his holster on as well, which was more than a little uncomfortable; but he wasn’t about to let his gun leave his side. 

Lassiter shut his eyes, fidgeting restlessly as he attempted to find a position that gave him some small form of comfort. Somehow, his room smelled of smoke too - and was that the scent of sulfur mixed in? - and made him sick to his already-churning stomach. 

Sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep, he needed to _sleep_ , so he could go to work tomorrow without keeling over… 

He felt like he was going to throw up everything he had eaten for supper. Carlton Lassiter did not often cry, but he felt so awful right now he almost wanted to. He turned over onto his side and curled his knees up to his chest, trying to stave off the nausea; it was all in his head, it was just a feeling, and if he could focus hard enough he could mentally block it. 

It wasn’t working. His innards were twisting around on themselves and bursting into flame, and all he could do was thrash around in bed, breathing unsteady and a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead. At one point, he tasted the metallic taste of blood, and it vaguely registered that he had bit down a little too hard on his tongue.

Then the voice - the one that sounded like his but wasn’t - spoke inside his head again. _You’re a strong one, I have to admit. Much more so than my last vessel._

“Wh…” Lassiter could hardly speak in between his rapid, ragged breaths. “What the…” He clutched at his head with both hands, doubled over. He clenched them into fists, gripping his hair and making a choked sound a little like a cross between a sob and a growl of frustration.

_I’ll stop exploring and let you rest now. We have a big day tomorrow, you and I._

Lassiter’s body went very still; both the churning of his stomach and the feeling of being turned inside out had stopped abruptly. The fever still remained - but he hardly had time to think on that before he collapsed back onto the bed and the world faded into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! This one is from Juliet's point of view. I have a habit of switching points of view for stories like this; it's probably going to switch up between Lassiter (most of it will be his point of view), Juliet, and Shawn. If this is an annoyance to anyone, please let me know! I can definitely stop writing like that. That said, enjoy this latest chapter, and let me know what you think! Sorry for how short it is.

Juliet didn’t want to go to work. Not after what had happened the night before. It had been too frightening, too… too surreal. Her world was built on facts - her job revolved around them, finding the facts in the midst of the lies so that she could properly discern who was at fault for which crimes. 

Last night… that didn’t have a scientific explanation, it didn’t have a single factual side to it, and that was almost more frightening than the happenstance itself. 

Almost.

But she had come to work anyway, because she couldn’t stay home all day. Besides, she wasn’t sure she liked being alone. At least here, at the police department, she was surrounded by coworkers and friends. 

“Good morning, Detective O’Hara!”

She jumped at the sudden voice, nearly spilling her coffee as she turned around. “Oh, Buzz. Hi.”

He tilted his head, regarding her with that way he had; the inquisitive, concerned expression that he often showed. She had taken to considering him the older brother of the entire department, always trying to make sure the people around him were safe and happy. “Are you okay? Did something happen last night, during the power outage?”

Oh. Oh, if only she could tell him. But it sounded ludicrous even in her own thoughts - what might it sound like if spoken aloud? “No, no. I’m just a little tired, is all.” 

“Maybe you should take a few days off, go on a vacation,” Buzz suggested, stepping up beside her to get himself some coffee. “You’ve earned it.”

Juliet couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I’ll be alright. It’s nothing some caffeine and sugar can’t fix.” 

He smiled. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Juliet finished putting sugar into her coffee. “I’d love to chat, but I have some paperwork I need to finish…” Her tones were apologetic, not just because she had to leave so abruptly but also because she wanted nothing more than to stay with Buzz - his easygoing manner helped alleviate some of her anxiety and confusion. 

“That’s okay,” Buzz said warmly, shrugging. “See you later, maybe.” 

“Yeah.” Juliet returned his smile, then took her coffee cup and made her way to her desk. 

She had a difficult time focusing on her work. She had texted Lassiter seven times since last night, trying to get some sort of a response and receiving none. And now he was nearly an hour late to work - a strange happening considering that he usually arrived at least twenty minutes early to work every single day. It was beginning to worry her.

“Hey, Jules.” 

Juliet looked up to see Shawn perched on the edge of her desk, and she had never been more relieved to see his friendly face and blue checkered shirt. “Shawn, good morning.” 

“I brought you a smoothie.” He pushed it toward her. “Pineapple. The only flavour of smoothie worth having. Except for maybe blueberry. Or chocolate. Hey--a pineapple chocolate smoothie. Someone needs to learn to make that.” 

“Well, thank you.” Juliet slid the smoothie closer and took a sip. She didn’t want to bring anything regarding last night up, but… she couldn’t help worrying. “Shawn… have you heard anything from Carlton since last night? I-I’ve tried texting him, and he didn’t reply. He didn’t call back when I left a voice message either. And now he’s late, and--”

“Jules, Jules, Jules.” He reached across the desk and patted her shoulder. “Relax. I have not heard from our dear Lassie yet, but I’m sure he’s fine. I haven’t heard from Gus since last night either. But I’m sure he’s fine too. They just got scared, that’s all.” 

“It was more than that…” Juliet said quietly. “At least for Carlton.”

Shawn’s casual, encouraging expression faltered for a moment, only to return again. “Yeah, well, the guy’s been in a car accident before, had his arm broken doing God knows what, been shot. I think he’ll be fine. It was just a…” He waved his hands in random gestures. “A surge of psychic energy. No big deal.”

Juliet wasn’t sure she believed him - but he _was_ the psychic. Before she could respond, she noticed that the chatter of the police and receptionists changed in tone; something a little more hushed, as though everyone had suddenly been hit with an onslaught of uncertainty. 

She looked up and saw the cause - Lassiter had just walked in. He wore the same pale blue shirt from the day before, along with his grey jacket. Both were more wrinkled than he would normally allow them to be. His hair was styled back, same as always, but not quite as perfectly as he usually did it. Everything about him was the same, and yet slightly off - not as neat, not as tidy. The cut on his head had scabbed over, surrounded by a faint discoloured bruise. The shadows under his eyes looked darker than normal.

And everything about his mannerisms was wrong. He always entered the department with confidence, his expression that of a man ready to take on the day with as much determination as he always did.

Today… today his shoulders were slightly hunched, and he avoided eye contact with anyone. His hands were restless, first slipping into his pockets and then tapping fingers against his leg. And his eyes seemed hazy; nowhere near as focused as normal. He looked as though he were worlds away as he approached his desk without a word and sat down in his chair with more force than normal.

“Carlton.” She was scared, but was she scared for his health… or scared to approach him? Maybe it was both. She walked toward him nonetheless. “Carlton. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you all night.” 

He didn’t look up from his desk for several long seconds. Then he glanced up, blinking a few times. “O’Hara. No. I mean, yes. Sorry. I fell asleep, didn’t check my phone when I woke up this morning.” 

Juliet regarded him for a moment. Maybe it was just her imagination, but his face seemed paler than normal… on instinct, she reached out with the intentions of placing a hand against his forehead.

Suddenly, his hand darted out, closing around her wrist with more strength than was necessary. Juliet bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping. “Carlton… Carlton, stop. Let go of me.” She tried to tug her arm away from him to no avail; his fingers had locked around her wrist like a vice.

She looked at him and he met her eyes for a minute. For a moment, she expected them to be black - but no. They were as blue as ever. 

Finally, he loosened his grip, yanking his hand back as though burned. He broke eye contact at the same time, looking down at the desk again, shuffling through papers. 

“Lassie-face. Good to see you.” Shawn came ambling over and Juliet felt a flicker of relief. 

Lassiter didn’t respond, still rifling through the papers and avoiding eye contact; his fingers trembled slightly, and it did not go unnoticed. Juliet summoned up her courage and, determined, reached out again to place a hand against his forehead. 

He didn’t grab her this time, but he did jerk away from her before she could touch him. “O’Hara, stop it.”

“What’s up, Lassie? You’re grumpier than usual,” Shawn interjected, leaning against the desk and peering at Lassiter. He was, again, ignored. 

“You look sick, Carlton,” Juliet pointed out. “Just let me see if you have a temperature. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Lassiter let out a laugh, a short, monosyllabic sound that held no mirth or amusement. He didn’t respond, just shook his head briefly and picked up a pen. 

Juliet tried a third time to feel his forehead and he finally let her, though he clenched his jaw so hard she could hear it pop. It worried her, but not as much as the heat against her palm. “Carlton, you’re burning up.” 

He laughed again, this time with what sounded like amusement. But instead of agreeing, he shook his head. “No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are,” Juliet retorted. She looked sideways at Shawn, who was watching with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m going to get the chief. You need--”

“Don’t.” Lassiter’s voice was quiet but fierce. “I’m. _fine_.” 

“Lassie, she’s right, you look awful,” Shawn put in. “I can tell you have a fever, and I’m all the way over here.” He drummed his hands against the edge of the desk. “You should really see a doctor or something.”

Lassiter jerked his head up, fixing both Juliet and Shawn with a cold stare. “I said I’m fine.” 

“Carlton…” Juliet started, heart twisting in her chest. 

Lassiter didn’t respond, pushing his chair away from his desk with a few papers in his hand. “There was a drive-by shooting at Churchill Jewelers on 1015 State Street. I’m going to go check it out.”

Before anyone could really respond, Lassiter was on his way out of the room. 

“Carlton!” Juliet chased after him. “Carlton, stop it!” 

She caught up with him in the parking lot and managed to run in front of him, blocking his path to his car. “What’s wrong with you? I know you hate admitting when you’re sick or hurt, but you have a really bad fever right now. What’s wrong? Why are you acting so weird?” 

She had a few ideas - but they didn’t line up with real facts, they didn’t make logical sense. And they frightened her.

"O'Hara, look, I am fine. Leave me alone," Lassiter said with an edge to his voice. Whether that edge was anger or fear was entirely uncertain. "I don't have a fever. You're imagining things. Now go back inside."

"No, I'm _not_ imagining things!" Juliet replied, hands on hips. "And I'm not going back inside until I find out what's wrong! You can't just run off on a case in this condition!"

For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke, staring each other down. Lassiter's eyes seemed... wrong, somehow. Juliet could hardly bear to maintain eye contact, and she didn't know why. But she did, determined not to be the first to give in.

And then he brushed past her without another word and opened his car door, getting inside and starting the engine. Juliet almost - almost - ran forward and jumped into the passenger side, but something stopped her.

She stood in the parking lot, watching the Crown Vic drive away until it disappeared, then walked back inside.

Shawn was standing at the doors of the SBPD. “Are you okay?”

Juliet sighed, drawing a hand across her face. “I’m fine, I just… I’m worried about him.” She looked at him again. “Are you sure nothing went wrong last night?”

There was a beat of silence and Shawn nodded. “Yeah. It was just a stupid parlor trick that must have caused a little more psychic energy than I thought it would. I promise, Lassie’s gonna be fine.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Juliet was only slightly reassured by his words. She reached up and briefly placed her hand over Shawn’s before walking back toward her desk. She knew she wouldn’t be able to focus - not when her partner was acting strange, and off investigating a crime scene while suffering from a fever - but the least she could do was try.

But no matter how much she threw herself into her work, Juliet couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Lassiter's point of view again, the poor thing. There's not much to warn you about in this chapter, I don't think; just mentions of alcohol. Enjoy, and as always, let me know if you have complaints or suggestions!

Lassiter normally didn’t blast his music very loud while in the car, but if it drowned the voice in his head out, he would risk the chance of people thinking an immature teenager was driving the car. He slipped in one of his Rolling Stones CDs and turned the volume up as loud as he dared.

_"But what’s puzzling you_  
_Is the nature of my game._  
_I stuck around St. Petersburg_  
_When I saw it was a time for a change;_  
_Killed the czar and his ministers…”_

He could only imagine how worried O’Hara was. He didn’t like it when she worried; especially not when it was his fault.

But he couldn’t help it. He had no choice. He couldn’t let her get involved, because God knows what would happen if she did. To her or to Lassiter himself.

_Oh, you know what’ll happen to her._

Damn it. Damn everything.

Lassiter reached out, cranking the volume on the radio.

_"But what’s confusing you_  
_is just the nature of my game._  
_Just as every cop is a criminal,_  
_and all the sinners saints…”_

This song wasn’t exactly helping anything, but Lassiter couldn’t seem to bring himself to switch songs, even though he wanted to. So he set his jaw, staring straight ahead at the road in front of him, and tried to focus solely on the drumbeats and guitar.

_It would have been so easy to snap her wrist like a twig. You almost did. You wanted to, didn’t you? You were angry. Oh, such anger you keep barely hidden beneath your skin. But it’s understandable; she just doesn’t know when to leave you alone, always pestering you like you’re some incompetent child. You’re not a child, are you? You’re not that weak, not that foolish. Yet she thinks you are._

Drumbeats. Grey pavement rushing past beneath the car. Drumbeats. Steering wheel between his fingers. Drumbeats. 

O’Hara hadn’t been imagining things; he still had a fever. He wasn’t sure how high it was - he hadn’t bothered to check - but it was hot enough that he had difficulty thinking through the fog. He hated it. But he wasn’t about to go sit at home, alone with the voice that wouldn’t leave him be.

He briefly wondered if he could crash his car; drive it straight into a pole or a tree. Wondered if he might hit his head in the collision, wondered if that might set his mind right again; whether it would silence whatever surreal voice kept whispering to him.

That was assuming he survived, though.

Before long, he came to a stop outside Churchill Jewelers. A few squad cars were already there; policemen, doing their jobs in as timely a manner as they could manage. 

Lassiter got out of his car only for his legs to buckle beneath him, head spinning. He managed to catch himself, the concrete digging into his palms and his knees. He shut his eyes tight. 

_You’re not that weak, are you?_

Gritting his teeth, he fumbled for the car door and used it to haul himself to his feet. When he was sure his head had stopped whirling, he slammed the door and made his way around the car and inside Churchill Jewelers. 

He approached the very agitated man who seemed to be the owner of the establishment. “Hey. Detective Carlton Lassiter.” He held out his badge as proof. “Are you the owner?”

“Yes.” The man reached out with one trembling hand. “Jonathan Chambers.”

Lassiter surveyed the store. The front window had been completely shattered, and shards of glass littered the floor. “Was this all caused by the shooting?” 

“No…” Chambers walked up beside him. “Some of it was, but someone also came by and shattered the window. I don’t know whether they were working with the shooters or not… they tried to steal jewelry, but only managed to take one or two pieces before they heard the sirens and bolted.”

“Hm.” Lassiter knelt down to get a closer look at the glass. “They could have been working with the shooters. Or they could have tried to capitalize on the sudden chaos. Did you recognise anyone?” 

“No. At least, not the men who broke the window,” Chambers responded. “I didn’t get a look at the shooters.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought so.” Lassiter gingerly picked up a shard of glass, inspecting it; though he knew not why. It was just a piece of glass.

_Imagine the damage that small piece of glass could do, though. And you know just which parts of the body would be hurt most if you went after them with this sharp little thing, don’t you? You know of so many creative ways to kill a man. Or a woman. Or a child._

“Shut up,” Lassiter muttered from between clenched teeth. He dropped the shard of glass and straightened up.

“Pardon?” Chambers asked.

“Nothing.” Lassiter glanced around the store anymore. “Okay, do you keep an inventory anywhere? If you give me the information on what was taken, I can take it back to the police department with me and we can keep an eye out for the stolen merchandise.”

“Yes, hold on a minute…” Chambers went behind the counter.

Lassiter walked across the room, glass crunching and grating beneath his shoes. There was a bullet hole in the wall, behind and just off to the right of the counter. He leaned in close, studying the entry point of the bullet.

_Smith & Wesson 500 Magnum. Look at that. You can tell what type of gun was used just by looking at the bullet hole. What… useful knowledge._

It was such a simple statement the voice made, but the way it sounded in Lassiter’s head made him suppress a shiver and grit his teeth harder.

“Here you go.” 

He turned to see Chambers holding a few sheets of paper, printed off the computer, toward him. He took the papers and glanced at them before folding them and placing them in his pocket. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to file these in and make sure we keep an eye out for your missing items.”

“Thank you,” Chambers returned. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Lassiter looked around the room one more time. It felt like the room had gone several degrees hotter; or was that just his fever? He drew the back of his hand across his forehead. “No, just sit tight, let the police finish their jobs. We’ll do our best to find the criminals who did this and bring them to justice.” 

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Lassiter made his way back to his car. He sat down hard in the driver’s seat and started the engine, turning the air conditioning onto its highest setting. At first, he didn’t move; just sat there, eyes shut, letting the cool air caress his face and taking deep breaths.

The voice had gone silent for the timebeing. Lassiter wasn’t sure if that comforted him or scared him. 

He changed gears and pulled out of his parking spot, driving down the street with his music playing - albeit quieter than it had been before he arrived at Churchill Jewelers. 

He knew he should go back to the police department. He needed to turn in the list of stolen merchandise, help file a report, and finish up the paperwork he had on his desk… 

But there would be people. There would be the chief. There would be O’Hara, and probably Spencer too with Lassiter’s luck. People who knew him. People who expected great things from him, strength and confidence and bravery.

Or did he just expect those things of himself?

Whatever. He couldn’t go back to the department. Not yet. Not right now. So he drove aimlessly, down streets that normally would be familiar, but only on days when his mind wasn’t a haze of fog and rippling heat and throbbing pain.

Somehow, without really noticing, he ended up in the parking lot near the beach. At first, he started to turn the car around - but it was a weekday. Most people were at work, or school… there weren’t too many people milling about.

So Lassiter parked his car and walked down the path toward the beach. He walked through the sand, wind catching at his jacket and drying the sweat on his forehead, lost in disconnected thoughts and worries.

Eventually, he found a bench, overcast in shade from the trees. He sat down, out of the sun, and listened to the faint crashing of the ocean against the shore; blue-grey waves lapping at the sand, the wind whispering against it all.

Lassiter leaned against the back of the bench, staring out across the spanse of sand and water. The voice was still silent, and it wasn’t as much a relief as he had hoped - instead he found he was frightened. Frightened of when it would speak up again. Frightened that whatever illness he had that was giving him this fever would never go away. 

Frightened that eventually, he’d take heed of the voice’s words and do something he might regret. 

Frightened, because he was losing control of the only thing he could control - his own body, and most of all, his mind. 

He needed control, he needed structure, and that was all slipping away like grains of sand in an hourglass, no matter how hard he tried to keep a hold on it. 

Lassiter shook his head, as though he could shake the fears away. Don’t be ridiculous, Lassiter. You’ve just gotten sick, is all. Once whatever you’re sick with goes away, things will go back to normal. Stop worrying like some sort of coward.

He drew in a deep breath of the ocean air, letting it fill his lungs, and then exhaled slowly. Yes… everything would be fine. 

 

He lost track of how long he sat there on that bench. It was only when the horizon had been painted in rosy hues and the clouds were tinged with gold that he realised he must have spent nearly all day there. 

He had dozed off for a brief time, but something had awakened him and he hadn’t drifted off since. He was shocked he had managed to sit here without moving much at all the entire day, but then, nothing made much sense anymore.

He hated it.

And while he almost wanted to stay here - the ocean had a calming effect on him, or, at least, it made him as calm as someone like him could be - his stomach was growling. He hadn’t eaten anything since the day before, at lunch; and he had thrown all of it up later that evening, meaning now - over a day later - he now felt slightly hollow. 

So Lassiter stood up and made his way down the beach toward where he had parked his car. By now, the beach was more or less empty, except for a man with his dog and a young couple ambling hand-in-hand along the shoreline.

_Look at them - how happy they are. You could have had that, but you simply couldn’t keep from messing it up, could you? You couldn’t be good enough for Victoria, could you?_

Dammit. Oh, dammit, how he wanted to just fall to his knees and scream, in rage, in pain, in frustration. Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit.

Lassiter shut his eyes tight, drawing in a trembling breath, and started walking faster. If he could get to his car, maybe the music would help. Or maybe stopping by the bar, having a few drinks…

_The liquor will only go so far. It can’t drown you completely._

Lassiter wrenched open the door of his car and climbed inside, starting the engine and switching on his radio before driving far too quickly out of the parking lot and onto the street. His head began to pound again, worse than before, but he turned the volume of his music up higher regardless.

_“I look inside myself and see my heart is black._  
_I see my red door, I must have it painted black._  
_Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts -_  
_It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black…”_

And Lassiter knew he shouldn’t - he knew what he should do, he should go back to the department, he should find help; he knew he would be letting the voice win if he didn't do those things - but he turned down the street that led to the bar anyway. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there's anything that needs to be warned of in this chapter. Enjoy, and as always, if you have feedback of any sort, feel free to leave a comment.

“Gus.”

“Don’t speak to me, Shawn,” Gus said icily. “I’m going home to spend a _safe_ , _quiet_ evening eating dinner and reading a book until I fall asleep.”

“Oh, c’mon, are you still mad at me about last night?” Shawn asked, speeding his pace so that he was walking side-by-side with his friend. 

“Shawn, something happened last night, and it wasn’t good. You’ve messed up big time,” Gus retorted, pushing open the door that led to the parking lot of his place of work. “And I don’t want to get dragged into some mess of demons and portals to hell.”

“There is no portal to hell, don’t be the cookie part of an Oreo,” Shawn said. “Look, I need you to help me figure out what’s wrong with Lassie.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Gus said, making a beeline for his car. “The guy’s possessed. Go find some exorcist or something and call them in, because _I don’t want to get involved_.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not _possessed_. He’s just sick from the psychic energy or something, and we should check--” 

“Stop it, Shawn!” Gus turned sharply to face his friend. “You might be able to fool Juliet into thinking it was just a bunch of stupid ‘psychic energy’, but you’re forgetting I know the whole psychic thing is fake. And what happened last night was very, very real. Seriously, go find an exorcist or something before things get even more out of hand.” 

“I’m not going to hunt down an exorcist, because there’s no such thing as demons!” Shawn replied, feeling more than a little stung at Gus's harsh tones. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m not helping you,” Gus said again. “I’m not getting involved with the occult, whether you think it’s real or not. If you want help, find someone else.” 

“Wow, man,” Shawn said, chasing Gus around the car to the driver’s side. “You don’t care about Lassie at all, do you?”

“Don’t start trying to guilt-trip me,” Gus said, pointing a finger at Shawn briefly before opening the car door. “I do care about him. Probably more than you do, considering you thought it would be a good idea to summon a demon in the same room as him, or Juliet, or me, or yourself. I warned you, you know.”

Those words hurt more than anything else Shawn had heard Gus say today. “Gus, come on.” Shawn reached for the door, but it had shut. Gus went tearing out of the parking lot, and Shawn sighed. He made his way to the sidewalk and started toward the police department. Lassiter had probably returned from the case he had run off to that morning, and knowing him, he was probably working late despite being sick. 

It was a cool night; not terribly cold. He was warm enough with his leather jacket as he made his way through town toward the police department, humming a tune to himself. 

Walking inside, he sauntered his way to the back. Everyone knew he didn’t work there officially, but no one bothered to stop him at this point - he was as much a fixture there as any of the policemen or receptionists. 

Shawn realised no one was at Lassiter’s desk, and frowned. He turned in a circle. “Hey, you.” He reached out and grabbed the arm of a policeman walking past.

“Yeah?” The man looked at him.

“Where’s Lassie? You know him, I’m sure. Tall, lanky, ocean blue eyes--”

“Of course I know him.” The policeman tugged his arm out of Shawn’s grasp with minor annoyance. “You were here this morning talking to him, right? He hasn’t come back in yet. I’ve been here all day, I’d have seen him.” 

A knot of fear coiled up in Shawn’s stomach, but he ignored it. “Huh. Well, thanks.” He turned sharply and ambled away. Juliet wasn’t here… he knew she must be worried sick.

Now guilt joined the fear. Shawn nodded his head and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling. 

He left the police department and started walking. He wasn’t sure where he was going; he wanted to find Lassiter, but he also knew he couldn’t spend all night wandering around town. He needed to call someone to drive him home; he had hoped Gus would. That hadn’t worked out too well.

His cell phone rang and he answered it. “Shawn Spencer, psychic det--”

“Save it, Shawn.” 

“Oh, hey, Dad. What’s hanging?”

“Gus called me. He said I should check on you and didn’t tell me why. What’s going on?”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “I’m on my way to the zoo so I can wrestle a crocodile. I’ve decided being a psychic detective isn’t for me. I want to be Steve Irwin.”

“Shawn, I’m serious. He sounded scared stiff.”

“He’s been reading too many ghost stories,” Shawn said with a sigh. “I’ve told him and told him to stop reading them, and he just won’t listen.” He kicked at a bottlecap on the sidewalk, watching it skitter across the concrete and into the gutter.

“Can you give me an honest answer for once in your life? I’d ask Gus but he refuses to tell me anything.”

“Look, Dad, Gus is scared of everything. He worries that he’ll freeze to death in winter, and we live in sunny Santa Barbara. I’m fine, he’s fine, and I’m just gonna--”

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud crashing noise from inside the bar caught his attention. He stopped walking just as several men came tumbling outside and onto the sidewalk in a tangle of arms and legs. 

And the man who came rushing after them, hands balled into fists, had dark hair and wore a pale blue shirt.

“Dad, I gotta go.”

“Shawn, what in the hel--” 

Shawn hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket, heart rate accelerating. 

Lassiter dragged two men back by the collars of their shirts, throwing them forward. They went rolling into the street, scrambling at the concrete in a frantic attempt to get to their feet. As soon as they did, they bolted, running like the devil himself was after them.

There were three more men on the sidewalk, unable to escape Lassiter. He moved with more speed than Shawn had ever seen from him before, weaving in between and around the men, darting out punches and jabs. 

They were trying to fight back, but only because they couldn’t run for it - Lassiter wouldn’t let them. He’d cut them off before they could get too far, constantly in fluid motion, a pale shadow dressed in grey and blue.

“Lassie?” Shawn realised he had spoken a bit too quietly, and he raised his voice. “Lassie!” 

Lassiter turned sharply, eyes bright with fever and some strange fire Shawn had never seen before. In that brief moment where he and Shawn made eye contact, the remaining men scrambled to their feet and ran away down the street.

Shawn watched them go - looking away from Lassiter for only a moment - but when he turned back, the detective was standing right in front of him, their faces almost touching. Shawn took a step backward, nearly falling over. “Whoa, there, Lassie. Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”

Lassiter stood still for a minute, then shook his head sharply, as though trying to shake away a wasp that wouldn’t stop buzzing in circles around his head. Then he blinked once, fixing Shawn with an almost piercing look. 

“You okay?” Shawn didn’t know why he asked - he knew the answer already. “You look kinda…” He spiraled a finger in a circle beside his head. “Maybe you need to lay off the scotch for a bit.”

Lassiter didn’t say anything, but he blinked again, just once, and his eyes suddenly dulled a little, and he ran a hand through his hair. His knuckles were bleeding, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Right…” Shawn risked walking over. “Let’s get you home, or something. Your car’s around here somewhere, right? You didn’t just crash it and come stumbling over here for a drink, right? ‘cause that would be kind of stupid and not like you at all.” 

Lassiter scowled at him for a moment before finally speaking. “Spencer, back off. I’m fine.” 

“Of course you are,” Shawn agreed. “You just came crashing out of a bar fighting five guys at once, and you were winning until they ran off. I’d say you’re definitely fine. Be that as it may, you should probably go home.”

“I am going home.” Lassiter pushed past him and started walking across the street. His car was parked on the opposite side.

“No offence, but you probably shouldn’t drive.” Shawn jogged after him. 

“I’m not drunk. Go home.” Lassiter fumbled with his keys for a minute with trembling hands. 

“You sure? ‘cause you look drunk. And you sound drunk. And your breath smells like liquor.” Shawn snatched the keys out of Lassiter’s hands and danced out of reach. “I’m driving. You can choose the music if you want, since I’m nothing less than gracious.”

Lassiter made an irritated noise and lunged for Shawn, missing him entirely. “Dammit, Spencer, give me my keys. Now.” 

“Nope. Get in the car.” Shawn walked around to the driver’s side and started to open the door. 

Before he could even step one foot inside, he was grabbed from behind, two strong arms wrapped around his chest in a vice-like grip; with just a few inches difference, he would have been in a chokehold. Shawn immediately tried to wriggle away, and he managed to - but not until after Lassiter had ripped the keys from his hands and stepped backward. 

“Geez, Lassie, at least pay for dinner first.” Shawn figured that a joke was the best way to hide the fact that he was now almost as scared as Gus. This wasn’t like Lassiter, at all. Sure, he threatened violence and he got a bit rough sometimes, but he had never been _that_ aggressive.

“Go home, Spencer.” Lassiter opened the door of the car and climbed inside. 

Shawn did the only thing he could think of; which was to run around to the other side of the car and jump into the passenger seat before the car drove off. 

Lassiter hissed a curse under his breath. “Spencer!” 

“Hey, someone has to make sure you don’t run a little old lady down,” Shawn replied. 

He took in every small detail - the grains of sand at Lassiter’s feet, the air conditioner was cranked up to the highest setting, his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white underneath the blood… then his fingernails were digging into the wheel, and Shawn noticed his jaw tense. 

Then the car skidded to a stop. “Get out.” 

“Okay, you know what…” Shawn took his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m calling the department. The fact you’re a detective aside, this is kinda dangerous, for you to be driving around like this, and if you hurt someone, we all know you’ll beat yourself up about it for years, and--”

Before he could finish dialing, Lassiter’s hand darted out and took the phone, tossing it out the window. 

“Dude, what the hell?” Shawn burst out. “That was a new phone! If it’s broken, I’m making you pay for another one.” 

“Get out.” Lassiter spoke through gritted teeth, still gripping the steering wheel as though he would fall into an empty abyss if he didn’t. 

“Okay, seriously, what’s wrong? You’ve been all hissy since last night, and yeah, fine, I get it, my experiment kinda messed with the lighting and everything in the police department. You’re pissed off. Fine. But seriously, it’s not like you to just get into your car, drunk out of your mind, and try to drive,” Shawn said. 

He should know what’s wrong. He should be able to tell from all the subtle signs, the symptoms, the mannerisms. But he couldn’t. Or, if he could, it would mean admitting something he didn’t want to admit.

Lassiter let his head fall so quickly it connected with the steering wheel, making a dull _thud_. After a moment, he looked up again, but only through the windshield - he refused to look at Shawn. “Just get out. Go home before you get hurt.” 

“Are you threatening me, Lassie?” Shawn asked slowly. 

“Shawn, for once in your damn life, listen to me and _get out of the car_.” Lassiter’s voice was low and slightly strained. 

Shawn hesitated, trying to make a decision. In that pause, Lassiter reached across him and opened the door, suddenly and none too gently shoving Shawn out. 

“Hey!” By the time Shawn got to his feet, the car had already sped away. 

He stood there on the side of the road for a long time, and suddenly the cool air of the night felt a little too cold. And then it sank in that Lassiter had called him ‘Shawn’. He never used anything other than surnames when referring to people. 

So why had he this time? 

Shawn pulled his leather jacket tighter around his frame and went to get his phone. It was scratched, and one corner had been chipped, but the phone seemed to work. Shawn dialed Gus’s number and - of course - was sent straight to voicemail. Muttering under his breath, he dialed his father’s number.

“Shawn! Where are you and what is going on?”

“Everything is fine, Dad. I was walking past the bar, and I saw--there was a fight, okay? I’m fine.” Shawn glanced down the road. “Look, Gus was supposed to be my ride home, but he isn’t answering his phone. Could you come give me a ride?”

He hated asking for help, at least from his father. He could practically hear Henry rolling his eyes. 

“Sure. Where are you? Still at the bar?”

“Not really. I’m about a block away, near that one store. You know, the one with the freaking awesome teriyaki-flavoured beef jerky.”

“Right. Don’t move, I’ll be right there.”

“I’m not a little kid, Dad, you don’t need to tell me that,” Shawn said, resisting the urge to roll his own eyes. “See you later.” He hung up before Henry could respond.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the curb, thinking everything over. Maybe Gus was right. Maybe this was something they needed an exorcist’s help for. 

But demons _weren’t real_. There was no proof or logic to show that they exist. 

So why was Lassiter acting so strange? And what had happened last night?

A horn honked and Shawn looked up to see his father driving up beside the curb. He walked around to the passenger side and got in. 

“So. You gonna give me some straight answers?” Henry asked, waiting until Shawn had fastened his seat belt before driving on. 

“I already did,” Shawn replied.

“No, you didn’t.” Henry glanced sideways at him briefly. 

“Look, Gus is scared over nothing. I’m fine.” Shawn raised his arms, bracing his hands against the ceiling. “See? I’m not hurt at all. He probably just had one of his weird ‘sixth sense’ episodes and thought I was in trouble or something. As you can see, I’m not. Except for not having a ride.” 

Shawn could tell that Henry didn’t entirely believe him; but he asked no more questions and Shawn didn’t bother to say anything else for the remainder of the ride home.

Outside, he said goodnight to Henry before going inside and grabbing a bottle of soda from the fridge. He needed to do some thinking, and caffeine highs were always the best way to go about that. 

Shawn rarely did research; that tended to be Gus’s forte. But tonight, he decided to give it a go. 

It was only curiosity that caused him to look up exorcists on the internet, he told himself. Just curiosity. 

Nothing more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this chapter either, I don't think. Mentions of violence, but not really detailed enough to be much trouble, I don't think. Sorry for how short this is! That said, enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback.

Lassiter didn’t go home after finally escaping Shawn. He drove until he reached the forest, away from civilization - somehow, despite his mind being clouded from liquor, he didn’t end up crashing - and parked the car at the side of the road, his whole body shaking. 

He had been so close to putting his hands around Shawn’s neck and squeezing until he heard bones snap. All that had held him back was his grip on the steering wheel and the dwindling shreds of control he had over his mind.

_But you’ve wanted to kill him before, haven’t you? You’ve wanted to strangle him, or put a bullet between his eyes. Maybe not directly. But you’ve wished him dead before, haven’t you? That desire was already there, buried inside; why are you fighting it now that it’s surfaced?_

“Shut up!” Lassiter shouted. "Shut up!" His voice echoed through the open window into the night, and he could hear a faint chittering sound - some bird or rodent nearby, startled by the sudden noise, no doubt. He clutched his head in both hands, hoping beyond hope that some kind of pressure would silence the words he didn’t want to hear.

_You know it’s true. And don’t you have so many reasons to feel that way? All those times he’s humiliated you in front of your boss, your coworkers, the press… all the times he’s gone out of his way to prove you wrong and put you down in front of others… he thinks you’re a fool, just like they all do. You know this._

Lassiter dragged his hands down his face and let his head fall back against the seat. His heart thrummed against his ribs, quicker than normal, and he was acutely aware of every beat. He shut his eyes tight, shuddering as his chest tightened.

_Oh, now, now, now. There, there. Don’t cry. That just proves you’re weak. You’re not weak, are you? They think you are. But you’re not._

_Are you?_

His eyes were stinging behind his eyelids, and he didn’t open them for several seconds, focusing on steadying his breaths. Then he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping outside into the night. The trees off the side of the road were tall, but sparse enough that he could still see the moon and stars through the branches.

Without really giving it much thought, he walked forward and into the forest. Something fluttered past his face and his heart jumped until he realised it was a moth. He waved his hand at it, chasing it away.

He had no idea where he was going, or what he was going to do. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back to town. He couldn’t risk engaging with other human beings - he couldn’t risk hurting them.

_But that’s who you are. You hurt. You desire to hurt. All those times you used your words to cut someone to the bone. All those times you’ve been so quick to pull your gun - you wanted to use it. So why don’t you?_

“That’s not who I am,” Lassiter said through clenched teeth, stepping over a branch lying across the path. “That’s not who I am.” His voice grew quieter with every repetition. “That’s not who I am…” 

_Oh, but you know it is._

Lassiter felt his stomach turn. Not even the liquor-induced haze over his mind could silence whatever was talking to him now. In fact, it was almost worse now. But was that because of the liquor itself, or because he was sicker?

Was it even a sickness? Or was it something else?

He realised he had stumbled off the main path and found himself surrounded on all sides by tall trees and fallen logs. One of them in the shadows tripped him up, and he fell to his hands and knees. The earth was damp beneath his palms, and everything smelled like rotting wood, moss, and dirt. 

Lassiter dragged himself to his feet, staggering forward and trying to find the path again.It had to be there somewhere; he couldn’t have gone very far… 

But the more he searched, the more lost he felt. His chest tightened again, and he fought the feeling back. Carlton Lassiter did not cry. He wasn’t a child.

_But you are, deep down. There’ll always be a small child hidden away between your bones, won’t there? Because you were forced to grow up too fast, and that child was left behind; not given the chance to move on. You keep it hidden behind a locked door, don’t you? The young, vulnerable boy who just wants love,wants to show it, wants to receive it. Good. Keep the little creature sequestered in the shadows. It’s weakness._

None of Lassiter’s thoughts were clear, but the damn voice was. He opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t seem to find more than a few words. “Just… shut up. Shut up.”

_I’m only voicing the things you already know. I’m helping you be true to yourself; you’ll understand that, someday._

Frustration crashed over Lassiter like a wave and he skidded to a halt, slamming his clenched fist into a tree. He just wanted this voice - demon, creature, illness-induced hallucination, whatever the hell it was - to _give him peace._

He punched the tree a few more times, throwing all of his energy into it, until he lost his footing and fell to his hands and knees again. He didn’t even bother trying to stand. His head spun too badly and his body shook too much. He collapsed to the ground, shifting so he was lying on his side amongst the leaves and earth. The pain in his hands didn’t even register beyond a faint sting and a dull throbbing. 

_Get up._

Lassiter shivered slightly and subconsciously drew his knees up to his chest. 

_Get up._

He shut his eyes tight, trying to drown the voice out by focusing on the forest around him. The tree roots digging into his back. The earthy scent permeating the air. The faint noises of nocturnal wildlife. 

_Get. up!_

Suddenly what felt like a surge of electricity rushed through Lassiter, and his body jerked. Everything went black - blacker than it had been, though it was night. Then his vision returned. His surroundings were the same as they had been before, but now his sight was… different. Sharper, with the faintest sort of glow to it. He couldn’t see better, per se - at least not by much - but something had changed.

He knew that, though. He knew not only by his change in vision, but by the way he felt as though electricity coursed through his veins. By the way he suddenly had his strength back. By the way his senses were heightened.

By the way he no longer had control of his own body, and yet was still totally aware of every movement he made. Or rather, every movement the force controlling him caused him to make.

His heart thudded at high speeds, and he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t safe. He was conscious, but had no control over his body. He was nothing more than a puppet - the very thing he had sworn never to be, whether metaphorically or, as it was now, literally.

He tried to regain control and failed. He found himself walking in a direction he hadn’t chosen, unable to turn back.

_Calm yourself. You’ll be home before long._

No. No, he couldn’t go home, because that meant going back to town, and that meant being around people, and that wasn’t safe.

They wouldn't be safe... they wouldn't be safe from him. The one who was supposed to protect them was now the one they needed to fear the most. Lassiter wasn't sure whether he had always known that he was a threat to anyone who dared get too close to him, or if it was the voice telling him that. He couldn't go back... he couldn't let them get hurt, especially not by his hands...

But Lassiter could do nothing but keep walking in the direction he was going, listening to his heartbeat in his ears and the muted crunching sounds beneath his shoes. 

After some amount of time - he wasn’t able to focus on paying attention to the minutes that passed - a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he stopped, looking toward it. A black bear shuffled about a few yards away, head swinging from side to side as it surveyed the rotting log it stood beside. 

Something twisted inside of him, coiled around in the core of his being. And suddenly his mind went entirely blank, without individual thoughts.

All that remained was the consciousness enough to be aware of each step he took toward the bear.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some description of severe injuries in this chapter, and a passage in the beginning that mentions blood. Please proceed with caution. Otherwise, enjoy! This is from Juliet's point of view, and I know it isn't too terribly exciting, but it was a needed chapter. Leave feedback if you so wish, it's always welcome.

There was blood. A lot of it. It made the floor slick, soaking through Juliet’s sleeves and reddening the hem of her blouse, and she didn’t know whose it was. Was it Shawn’s? Was it Buzz’s? Was it hers?

They were here too, or they had been. She didn’t know where they had gone. It seemed they had been with her only a heartbeat before, and now they were gone. She was alone.

Or not quite. Something else was here. It looked like Lassiter, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He was not this vicious, he was not this bloodthirsty, he was not this… this monstrous.

But as she looked into ink-black eyes, she wondered if maybe she had been wrong.

And then he was lunging for her, and she fumbled for her gun, heart racing.

 

Juliet sat bolt upright in bed, breathing erratically. A nightmare. Of course. 

Getting out of bed, she slipped into her robe with the Winnie The Pooh characters on it, walking into the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. She had been up late worrying about Lassiter. He hadn’t shown up at work after leaving the day before, and - again - had ignored or not noticed her texts. Or her voice messages.

That was no doubt why the nightmare had happened. Well, that and the fact she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened that night in the police department. 

Shaking her head, Juliet set about getting ready for work. After taking a shower, choosing an outfit, putting on a little makeup, and doing her hair, she made her way to the kitchen for breakfast. 

She sat down with toast and jam, as well as a cup of coffee. After several minutes of picking at the food and debating with herself, she gave in and slipped her phone out of her pocket, dialing Lassiter’s number again.

_You’ve reached Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. I’m not available right now. Leave your number and a message and I might get back to you._

Juliet bit her lip, trying to keep from sighing. “Carlton, it’s Juliet. Again. Please call me back, or text me, or something. No one has seen you since yesterday morning, and I’m honestly really worried. I promise I won’t fuss at you. Just let me know you’re okay. Thanks, bye.” 

She left her phone on the table beside her arm while she ate. But it didn’t ring. And it didn’t ring while she was on her way to the police department. And it didn’t ring while she sat at her desk, doing paperwork.

When a call came in and she had to make her way to a crime scene - a vandalised house complete with a body - her cell still didn’t ring.

It felt strange to be standing inside the living room of ahouse, beside a body, without Lassiter beside her. In all her years working as a detective with the SBPD, she had never once gone to such a serious crime scene without Lassiter - they were partners, it was simply the way things worked.

But she had no time to think about that. She needed to take care of her job. So she drew in a deep breath, and moved a little closer to the body. “So what do we have, Buzz?”

“Well, besides the graffiti and what-not outside,” Buzz said, coming up beside her and glancing down at the notes he held. “The cause of death is unknown, but since there aren’t any noticeable markings, we think the cause may be internal - maybe via drugs, or poison. There aren’t any signs of a struggle either; if it was a murder, it was most likely a smooth, sneaky one.”

“Mmhm…” Juliet replied, thinking about his words. She crouched down to get a closer look at the body, searching for marks even though she trusted what Buzz had said. Sure enough, she found nothing.

She stood up again, silently regarding the situation. A glance at Buzz told her that he clearly wanted to say something but was restraining himself. “What is it, Buzz?”

He hesitated, shifting the clipboard from one hand to the other. “I… well, I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Detective Lassiter. I mean, he’s usually on crime scenes like this, but I haven’t seen him.”

Juliet looked at him, trying not to let her concern show on her face. “No, I haven’t heard from him. He isn’t responding to calls or texts.”

Buzz frowned. “That’s not like him at all.” Then he paused. “Actually, it is. He hates phone calls and texts. But I mean, I guess it’s not like him to just ignore them completely. He almost always answers if he can. If he can’t, he returns the call.”

Juliet nodded, sighing. “I know. But there’s nothing we can do. If he isn’t answering, he isn’t answering. Let’s just get done here and head back to the station to file the reports, and then wait for toxicology to get back to us.”

“Right.” Buzz tucked the clipboard underneath his arm and walked over to speak with the men taking care of the body. 

Juliet glanced over her shoulder, almost hoping to see Lassiter come walking in, barking orders and expressing anger that they were wrapping everything up without his permission.

But he didn’t.

 

“Detective O’Hara.”

Juliet turned around, holding the cup of coffee she had just made. “Yes, chief?” 

“My office, if you will?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Juliet followed the chief into her office, mildly curious and a bit worried. “What is it?” 

The chief seemed to be gathering her thoughts, remaining quiet as she leaned against her desk for a long moment. Then she spoke. “Now, normally I wouldn’t ask this. And I’m sure you’re probably tired of this question, since others have no doubt asked you. But have you heard from Detective Lassiter? I have left him multiple messages, and received no response. I thought it might have been because I didn’t give him permission to take a case recently, and he decided to take a few days off work without saying anything.”

Juliet shook her head. “No, I haven’t heard from him either.” She hesitated. “I wanted to ask if I could take a few officers and put together a search party. It’s not like him to be gone for this long, and there are plenty of people who might have it out for him…”

The chief was quiet for a moment, tapping her fingers against the edge of her desk, lost in thought. “I think that might be wise. Check his house first, and if you don’t find him there, take a few officers and start searching. In the meantime, keep this on the downlow - if we haven’t found him in two days, we’ll put something bigger together.”

Juliet nodded, trying to keep her anxiety from overwhelming her. “Is there anyone specific you have in mind for me to take with me on my search?”

“No. Take a few policemen if you want, or even Spencer.” The chief walked around her desk. “In fact, if you don’t find Detective Lassiter at home, it might be a very good idea to have Spencer help. As unconventional as his methods are, he does have a habit of finding things no one else can find. Humans included.”

Juliet nodded once more and then left the office, making her way out to the parking lot and getting into her car. To take her mind off the worry, she played some music - Irish reels.

She parked outside Lassiter’s place and walked inside, resisting the urge to run. She knocked on the door. “Carlton? Carlton!” 

There was no answer. She pounded on the door a few more times before testing it to see if it was unlocked. It wasn’t. 

For a few minutes, she worked at picking the lock - a skill she had asked Gus to help her learn, just in case; after all, it could never hurt to know how. Then the door swung open, and she made her way inside, keeping one hand near her gun - just in case.

She walked from one room to the other. “Carlton?” 

She received no response, and after searching the entire area, she realised Lassiter was nowhere to be found. Her investigation of his bedroom made it quite clear that if he had come home at all yesterday, he hadn’t bothered to sleep in his bed. The sink was clear of dirty dishes, and the outfit he had worn the last time she saw him was not in the laundry hamper. There were the cold remains of a TV dinner on the coffee table, but a quick look made it apparent that it had been there for longer than a day.

Juliet sank onto the sofa for a moment, dragging a hand across her face with a sigh. She sat there, looking around at the room and wondering where Lassiter could possibly have gone; and whether he was alright.

Eventually, she rose to her feet, dialing a number on her phone as she made her way to the car. “Shawn?”

“ _Jules! How ya doing? I’m just about to go have lunch at the taco place, wanna come? I usually go with Gus, but he’s still mad at me because of an argument we had last night._ ”

“No, Shawn.” Juliet started driving. “Look, Lassiter hasn’t shown up at work yet, and the chief gave me permission to get a few people together and search for him. She’s beginning to worry too. Do you want to come? We could use your psychic abilities.” 

“ _Oh, I’m sure Lassie’s fine. But yeah, sure. Where should I meet you?_ ”

“Back at the police department. I need to go ask Buzz and Sterling if they can help too.” 

“ _Sure thing. I’ll meet you there ASAP. Just let me get my taco first. I’m literally right outside the taco place, it won’t take long._ ”

Juliet resisted the urge to heave a sigh. “Fine. See you then.” She hung up without waiting for Shawn’s response. She knew it was rude - but she also knew that time was of the essence. (And that she really shouldn’t be on the phone while driving in the first place.)

 

She was standing with Officers McNab and Sterling when Shawn arrived, Gus in tow.

“Here we are, ready to go hunting,” Shawn said, taking a bite from a taco wrapped in foil he held in his hand.

“I want to make sure you all know that I’m _only_ here to help find Lassiter and _not_ because I want to be seen with Shawn.” Gus glared at him.

“Oh, don’t be the silent G in ‘lasagna’, Gus,” Shawn retorted. 

“Enough,” Juliet said. “Let’s get along, please. No arguing, or you can go home.” She didn’t mean it, of course. She needed them, even if they were going to fight like cats and dogs the entire time.

Gus gave her a somber nod, and Shawn - while he said nothing and made no such affirmative movement - went silent, chewing on his taco. 

The group set off. Buzz went with Juliet in her car, while Officer Sterling took a squad car. Gus and Shawn opted for the vehicle they had decided to call the ‘Blueberry’, due to its colouring. They split up, agreeing to keep in contact using their cell phones.

 

The sun was setting. Juliet swore she and Buzz had combed the entire cit of Santa Barbara, and still they hadn’t found a single sign of Lassiter. With each hour that passed, a new level of despair seized her heart. 

They were in the forest now, and had been for at least an hour, searching for any sign of the other detective. They knew they wouldn’t have time to examine each area of the woodland, but they wanted to at least check the nearest side to the road.

Shawn and Gus had come to join them. So it was from them Juliet heard a shrill yell and pounding footsteps. She ran to meet them, Buzz close behind. “Shawn? Gus? What is it?”

“B-b-b--” Gus pointed in the direction they had come running from, his expression one of horrified disgust. 

“Bear,” Shawn gasped out, hands resting on his knees as he doubled over, struggling to catch his breath. “Or blood, either works…” 

Juliet exchanged a shocked glance with Buzz, and pushed past the Psych team, going to find what it was that had frightened them so. When it came into her own view, she turned away, wide-eyed and unable to look at it straight-on, at least for a few minutes.

Buzz stopped beside her. “Holy crap.”

She finally drew in a deep breath and looked back. The bear’s head was twisted at an angle that could only be described as ‘wrong’, its neck snapped. White, red-smudged bones poked out from the thick black hide - and while the fading light made it difficult to tell, Juliet was fairly sure the creature’s eyes were gone. And something - whether whatever beast it was that had killed the bear, or some other animal in the night - had tried to take a few bites out of it, more or less succeeding.

“Looks like whatever got to it had sharp teeth…” Buzz said quietly, looking at the bite marks. “Poor thing.” 

“Yeah…” Juliet backed away, an uneasy feeling settling over her and making its way into her chest cavity. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do, and besides, we’re looking for Lassiter. Not wild animals.”

Shawn and Gus were still standing on the path when Buzz and Juliet returned. “Hey, Shawn. Are you picking anything up at all…?” Juliet asked, noticing that his face was still very pale, probably from fear.

He shook his head. “Nothing, Jules. I’m sorry. I’m trying, but it’s just not…” He sighed, spreading his hands helplessly. 

Juliet sighed. “All right…” She looked around one last time. “Come on. Let’s go back to town. We’ll stop by Lassiter’s place one more time, see if we can find any clues to his whereabouts there. Then you two can go home.”

The four of them returned to their cars. Juliet didn’t speak the entire drive back, and Buzz didn’t try to force her to. He remained quiet as well, even as they parked outside Lassiter’s home and got out.

The moment Juliet approached the door, she knew something was wrong. She peered closely at the door handle, and then tried twisting it. It was locked. 

“What’s wrong?” Shawn asked, ambling up beside her. Gus was right behind him, still appearing to be more than a little annoyed with his friend.

“I…” Juliet shook her head. “I picked the lock earlier, to try and see if he was home. I didn’t lock it when I left, but it’s locked now…” She knocked on the door, none too gently. “Carlton? Carlton! Are you in there?”

There was no answer, and two minutes passed without a single sound.

“Do you want me to kick the door in, Detective O’Hara?” Buzz asked, tilting his head and sizing the door up.

“No. Just let me…” She fumbled with her supplies. “Let me pick the…” She muttered a curse under her breath; nerves were making her movements unsteady, and she hated it.

“Here.” Gus touched her shoulder, silently asking her to move to the side. She did, and he took over the job of picking the lock. A few moments later, there was a faint click and the door opened.

Juliet scanned the room, hand automatically hovering above her gun, just in case. Everything seemed to be the same as it had been before - at first glance. But then she noticed that a bottle of scotch was on the counter where it hadn’t been before, and the TV dinner had been disturbed, now lying in a haphazard pile of food on the floor beside the coffee table.

“Carlton?” Juliet started walking through the house, then paused. “Buzz, come with me. Shawn, Gus, stay here.”

“But--” Shawn began.

“I mean it. Stay,” Juliet hissed. Then she continued walking again, keeping an eye on her surroundings and listening closely for any sign of life.

Then she stopped a few feet down the hall, staring at the door to Lassiter’s bedroom. She didn’t take her eyes off it, whispering, “That door was open this morning.”

It was shut now.

She could see Buzz nod in the corner of her vision, and his presence beside her as she approached the door was comforting in a way. She reached out and tested the doorknob. It turned, but when she pushed against the door, she met resistance. Baffled, she tried harder, to no avail. 

Glancing sideways, she could see a questioning expression on Buzz’s face. “Something’s blocking it,” Juliet said quietly.

That was all Buzz needed to hear, and he nodded before adjusting his grip on his gun so it wouldn’t be in the way and ramming his shoulder against the door. Something gave way on the other side, and he rammed into it again. 

Finally, the door opened enough for both Buzz and Juliet to slip inside. They brushed past the dresser that had been barricading the door, and Juliet immediately scanned the room, but her gaze stopped halfway.

Lassiter was sprawled out on the floor. He didn’t wear his jacket, but the pale blue shirt was the same one he had been wearing for days, now wrinkled and smudged with what appeared to be blood and dirt. His hands lay palms-down against the floor, knuckles scraped and bleeding to the point where a bit of white bone could be seen peeking through the skin. He was all but drenched in sweat, jaw clenched, eyes shut. His chest rose and fall quickly, but he was very still except for that movement.

“Carlton…?” Juliet said, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a hesitant step toward her friend, not expecting a response. 

But then his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, keen gaze fixed on her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken so long to update this, but here I am.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: a few detailed descriptions of injuries, mentions of vomiting, and very, _very_ vague implications of less-than-pure thoughts on Lassiter's part. Keep in mind that he is possessed by a demon, and please keep in mind that I'm trying to keep this story as clean as humanly possible. I mean, as clean as a story about demon possession can be. 
> 
> One more note: Lassiter's thoughts will be in **bold** , while the demon's voice will be in _italics_.
> 
> That said, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback. I'm very nervous about this chapter, and debating whether I should have written it at all, so please be gentle.

Lassiter slowly awoke, finding himself sprawled beside the front door, covered in blood and still burning with a steady fever. A few clumps of black fur were scattered across the floor, matted and damp. The lights were off, but sunlight filtered through cracks in the drapes. 

With a quiet groan, Lassiter braced his hands against the floor and attempted to sit up. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth as pain shot through his hands and up his arms. Looking down, he saw that his knuckles were scraped nearly to the bone.

“Dammit…” 

He fumbled for the doorjamb, gripping it as best he could and using it to drag himself to his feet. His head spun as he tried to remember what had happened the night before.

All his thoughts and memories blurred together, some seeming too impossible to be anything but a fever-induced hallucination. There had been… a bear… 

His eyes were drawn to the fur, to a glimpse of the red stains against the floor. Maybe they hadn’t been hallucinations… 

He wanted to say it was impossible. That all of this was absolutely wrong, because it was. Things like this did not happen. There were always logical explanations. 

But now… there were no facts except those that faced him, even if they were facts he thought inconceivable. Stability no longer existed - and it terrified him.

Shuddering, Lassiter moved cautiously into the kitchen, each step an effort. His stomach growled and churned; how long had it been since he had eaten something? God, he couldn’t even remember… what time was it?

He stared at his watch, trying to see through the grime and failing. Gritting his teeth, he gave up and walked toward the cupboard, his way lit only by faint streaks of sunlight that managed to sneak in through the drapes and blinds.

His first instinct was to wash his hands, to try and send all of the dirt and blood and grime swirling into the sink. But something else was more urgent to him - reaching into the cupboard to withdraw a bottle of scotch.

Lassiter opened the bottle and tipped his head back, pouring the liquor down his throat without bothering to use a glass. The burn in his throat almost matched the burn of the fever.

_Just like your father._

A laugh - a mirthless, choked sound - tore its way from Lassiter’s throat. “There you are,” he rasped in response to the voice, gripping the bottle of scotch in his hand. “Knew you hadn’t gone away.”

_Never. I like you far too much. You’re stronger than the others - you put up such a delicious fight. And you have so many desires and so much darkness hidden deep down inside of you; so much that you try to keep from showing, that you refuse to name. I have no real reason to leave; not with so much potential here._

Lassiter’s stomach lurched, and he swallowed back another gulp of scotch. His stomach only protested more, and he stumbled, bracing himself against the counter and vomiting up half the liquor he had just downed.

Shaking, he slumped against the countertop, head hanging low enough to nearly touch the inside of the sink. He wondered briefly if he was dying, because never had he felt as awful as he did now. 

Some part of him wondered if he was already dead.

After he became steady enough to move without spitting up the rest of his stomach’s contents - nothing more than a bit of liquor - Lassiter stumbled his way over to the sofa and collapsed, his legs sprawled out.

His head throbbed and it felt like his brain was rattling loosely in his skull - but even that was preferable to the voice, which had gone mercifully silent.

His gaze fell upon the TV dinner, which he had left on the coffee table… had it been last night? No… the night before last night. At least, he thought so. Time had blurred together.

Lassiter reached out and picked the tray up. He forced himself to take a few bites of it, shuddering. It was cold - unsurprisingly - and the texture felt strange. And it was tasteless, though whether that was the food or some reaction of his body, he knew not.

He forced a few more forkfuls down before doubling over, one hand clutched to his chest as he tried to keep from spitting up the food he had just attempted to eat. The abrasion of his shirt against his bleeding knuckles stung, but he ignored it.

But that was the extent of what he could eat. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could live like this; it had been… he didn’t know. It had been several days at least since he managed to eat anything. He’d had maybe a total of seven bites in however long it had been since all of this happened. Lassiter wondered how long it would be before he starved to death. 

_You only feel this way because you keep fighting. Give in, and all of this will go away._

For a moment, that sounded preferable. Giving in sounded… comforting. To stop struggling and just let someone else take control, to finally be able to rest.

But giving in - to stop fighting - meant giving up. It meant turning into everything he had always sworn never to become. And even in the state he found himself in now, that vow remained one of the most important things in his life.

He had no plans to break it. Even if it killed him.

After some indeterminable amount of time sitting there on the sofa, Lassiter finally rose to his feet. There was a loud clatter as the tray he had forgotten balanced on his knee went falling to the floor in a pile of food and scattered eating utensils.

Lassiter swayed on his feet, staring down at the mess. A nagging urge to clean it up poked at the back of his mind, and he stood there for a long few minutes, eyes on the haphazard remains of the TV dinner.

Then he shook his head, turning and making his way toward the bedroom. Once inside, he threw off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Then he shut the door and sank to his knees, leaning back against the bed and closing his eyes.

_Oh… it seems we’ll have visitors soon. How wonderful._

Something sparked inside of Lassiter and he lurched to his feet, moving toward the dresser. He gripped the edges with both hands and strained to push it in front of the door. The attempt made him shake uncontrollably; a task that would have been easy any other time, but was nearly impossible in his weakened state.

_You won’t be able to keep them out forever. Or, rather… you know you can’t keep yourself away from them forever._

The words only caused Lassiter to push harder against the dresser, managing to slide it a few inches. Then a few inches more. It took nearly ten minutes, but eventually he had successfully barricaded the bedroom door. 

The moment he felt certain the room was secure, Lassiter tried to walk toward the bathroom to clean up; then he lost his balance, stumbling and landing on the floor. He sat there for a few beats before letting himself fall backward so that he was sprawled out. 

At some point, darkness took over and he lost consciousness.

 

Was it the voice - a soft voice, a kind voice, calling his name - that woke him up, or was it the surge of electricity that jolted through his body? He wasn’t sure.

But he opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. His gaze fell upon a familiar form, blonde hair slightly mussed and blue eyes bright with fear. In the corner of his vision, Lassiter could see that the dresser had been shoved away from the door just enough to allow people in, and that a tall shape - Buzz McNab, most likely - stood a short distance away.

“Carlton…” Juliet said his name again, taking another slightly unsteady step forward.

A thought crossed his mind that left him feeling sick. Lassiter frantically tried to move, tried to get to his feet and back away. But he had once again lost complete control of his own body. When he rose, it was through no attempt of his own. Nor was it when he took a few steps toward Juliet.

_Take her. You know you want to._

A flash of terror surged through him, and Lassiter fought to remain where he was, resisting the voice and its urgings. His entire body shook as an invisible force tried to make him move forward, and he struggled to fight against it.

**No. No, no, no, no. Please, God…**

_Prayer will do nothing. He has forsaken you - as he does all foul, disgusting creatures._

**No…**

It was no use. He had no more control over his body - and was rapidly losing control of his own thoughts. At least, part of him hoped so, for these despicable thoughts and urges were ones he did not want to dwell on.

_Your thoughts are your own._

**No…**

“Carlton…” Juliet’s voice was soft - almost soothing. “Please. It’s okay, it’s just me and Buzz. We’re friends, remember? You don’t need to be afraid.”

 **Friends…**

_You don’t have friends, little Booker. How could a twisted creature like you have friends?_

“Carlton?”

He couldn’t move; he didn’t have the power. The one in control kept him where he was standing, gaze locked on Juliet.

Silence fell, tense and suffocating. No one moved; Lassiter because he could not, and Juliet and Buzz perhaps out of fear of startling him.

Then a spike of clarity - a spark of hope - struck Lassiter, toying with him. He lunged for the chance, terrified of losing it. “Juliet, please, lea--”

Then the control was gone, the powerlessness choking him and the force cutting off his warning, letting it die on his lips. If he could have, Lassiter wold have sobbed - in frustration, despair, desperation. 

But he couldn’t.

“Detective?” Buzz’s voice, hesitant and concerned. 

“Lassie?”

And there was Spencer, running into the room, closely followed by Gus, who banged his elbow on the edge of the dresser with a yelp.

“Shawn, I told you to stay outside,” Juliet said, hardly sparing the two of them a sideways glance.

“Jules, we couldn’t just stay out there. You were taking too long, and since we are obviously here as backup, it was time to come be backup,” Spencer responded, nonchalantly draping an arm over her shoulder.

 _Well, well, well. Look at how touchy-feely they are. Why don’t you do something about it? Aren’t you tired of that lying bastard stealing things from you? Your accomplishments, your respect, your happiness…_ her _…_

The fury hit and Lassiter no longer knew whether it was his own emotion or one manipulated into being by the demon. But it didn’t matter - he lunged forward anyway, slamming into Spencer and dragging him to the floor in the hallway in a tangle of limbs.

The other man struggled to escape, flailing wildly. Stray fists caught Lassiter in the face, but it wasn’t enough to deter him. Just as he managed to get one hand around Spencer’s neck -

“Carlton! Carlton, stop!”

One urge went away and the other came back. Lassiter released Spencer, jumped to his feet, and turned on Juliet instead, pushing her back against the wall. He could feel her chest rising and falling with every frightened breath she took, smell the scent of peaches on her hair, see her eyes widen and seem to go even bluer than before…

Just as one hand tightened around her waist and the other tightened around her wrists, Lassiter felt the strength leave his body. The electrical feeling coursing through his veins vanished, and the nausea returned to his stomach. His skin grew hot, and his head spun.

And he realised just how close he was to Juliet, and just how he held her.

Biting down hard on his tongue, he stumbled backward, toward the end of the hall. He saw Shawn, who had finally scrambled to his feet; Gus, standing at the opposite end of the hall, cell phone in hand, eyes wide; Buzz, looking worried with his hand hovering near his gun; Juliet… her expression one of terror and confusion… 

Lassiter braced himself against the wall, attempting to stay on his feet. He didn’t know how long he had before he was taken control of again… he needed to say or do something… 

“Get out. Out. Out, just… get out,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the front door.

Gus didn’t need to be told twice; he turned and bolted. The sound of a door slamming rang through the house a few moments later.

But the others weren’t leaving quite as quickly. Buzz’s hand slowly lowered, moving away from his gun. Neither Juliet nor Shawn had moved; they only remained in place, staring at Lassiter with more emotions than he could identify being as tired as he was.

“Get out.” Lassiter’s tongue felt heavy, and his mind felt like molasses; all he could say was the same two words over and over again. “Out.”

“Detective…?” Buzz asked slowly, as though afraid of startling Lassiter. He didn’t move, he only spoke.

“Get out, just get out, all of you,” Lassiter repeated, tripping over the words despite the simplicity of them. 

He was met with worried stares. Spencer shuffled his feet, as though attempting to inch backwards without being seen. Juliet remained pressed against the wall, where he had pinned her. He couldn’t read her expression; part of it was fear, but there were so many other emotions, it was almost overwhelming to see.

“Just leave… please. Please.” He knew he was begging. And where once that would have disgusted him, now he simply couldn’t bring himself to care.

After several moments of standing there, watching as not a single person moved, save for Spencer - who continued to edge backwards at a snail’s pace - Lassiter turned away and entered the bathroom, the one outside of his room. He walked inside, shut the door, and locked it. 

The memories of both his thoughts from before and what he had done kept invading his mind to the point where he had to cross over to the toilet, falling to his knees and retching. A thought came to him fuzzily through the haze; the thought that once again, he had nothing of substance in his stomach, and that he should eat something… but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He climbed into the bathtub - just as he had done so many times as a child - and hugged his knees up to his chest. 

And he let his head fall so that it rested against his arms, and he trembled, and he allowed the tightness in his chest to manifest as tears.


End file.
